


Unwelcome Visitor

by comtessedebussy, Sirenswhisper



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, not Silver friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 18:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12138600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comtessedebussy/pseuds/comtessedebussy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirenswhisper/pseuds/Sirenswhisper
Summary: Thomas shows Silver just what he thinks of him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written due to popular demand (mostly my own. I got fed up of waiting). 
> 
> I wrote this scene and Comtessedebussy will be writing a follow up scene.

Thomas recognised the man at their front door as soon as he opened it. They'd never met, and Thomas had hoped they never would, but John Silver was exactly has James had warmed. Thomas went to close the door far quicker than he had opened it, but Silver lodged his crutch in the space between door and frame. 

"I told him I would find you if you escaped. Please let me in so I may offer you a new deal. There doesn't need to be ill feelings between us. I'm sure he'll tell you that he and I are better partners than enemies." Silver hopped forward intent on coming in. 

Thomas flung the door open wide. "You always forget about me." He swung just as James had taught him and his fist connected with Silver's face. 

Silver overbalanced, his self-confident expression gone, he flailed a moment, then landed on his back. He didn't move. 

Thomas closed the front door and turned to find James pale and staring at him. 

"He's here," James whispered. 

"Unconscious. If we move him quickly we can ensure he never bothers us again." Thomas crossed his arms and hoped James would agree. 

"There's a ship headed for Bristol. We'll set him on that." James crossed the distance between them and kissed Thomas. "What would I do without you?" 

"It doesn't bear thinking about." Thomas rested their foreheads together. 

"No, it doesn't."


	2. Chapter 2

James catches Thomas’ hand where it rests on his chest. His knuckles are bloody from the impact. It had been quite the blow, to knock Silver out, and James is impressed at how well Thomas has learned, though a part of him wishes he’d never had to apply this particular lesson.

“You’re hurt,” he says.

“Hardly.” Thomas shrugs. James knows he’s known worse, so much worse, but it is still inconceivable, _unacceptable_ , that Thomas is hurt because of a man like Silver.

“Let me take care of it,” he says, prying himself away from Thomas with difficulty to fetch water.

“We should, perhaps, take care of the detritus on our porch first, no?” Thomas inquires.

“Fair point.” James sighs and drags the limp, one-legged body into their home. Thomas makes a move to help, but James cuts him off. “I can manage,” he says, panting. “Can you hand me the rope? The ship doesn’t leave until dawn and I’d rather not have him underfoot.”

Thomas hands the rope that James keeps hung by the door for cases of necessity, though this is hardly a case he’d envisioned. “I suppose we’ll have to put up with his presence tonight, then.”  

“Alas,” James agrees. He makes quick work of the knots around Silver’s hands and feet – foot and stashes the crutch where he can’t reach it. He rises, fetching bandages and a pot of water, freshly boiled – they’d been settling down to a calm afternoon of drinking tea when their visitor had arrived.

Thomas sits and reaches a hand out to James without too much protest. James brushes his own fingers over Thomas’ gently. He loved these hands – had loved them when they were smooth and pale, wielding a quill, and loves them now that they are rough and calloused, wielding a quill – or a well-swung fist. Just as gently, he washes the blood from those knuckles. Thomas doesn’t make a sound, and that silence is as painful as his grunts would have been, for it tells James how much suffering Thomas has known, to find this particular form of it negligible.

He binds a bandage carefully; frustrated at his penchant for injury, Miranda had taught him, long ago, how to care for them. Though it had usually been the other way around, Miranda bandaging _him,_ and suddenly the pain she had left with her death becomes unbearable.

James brings Thomas’ knuckles to his lips, kissing them one by one, gentle lest he cause more pain.

“I hate to see you hurt on my behalf,” he says.

Thomas gives a light snort of amusement.

“You fought a war on _my_ behalf,” he says. “I should think a couple of bruised knuckles are a fair return, especially after what _he_ has done to _you._ ”

“Thank you,” he manages hoarsely. With Thomas, there is nothing he cannot survive, no obstacle he cannot surmount. Thomas, his partner in all things.

…..

Silver blinks his eyes open to the sound of soft, murmured voices. His face throbs – he wonders if his nose is broken. He attempts to move, but finds himself bound. Glancing around, his crutch is across the room, far outside of reach. He curses in frustration. And he’d thought this would be _easy_ ; Thomas had always been _convenient._ A man who’d been imprisoned and enslaved for ten years, how much trouble could he be? He’d hardly believed half the things Flint had said about him; the man had clearly been half-mad with love and grief, loyal to his lost idol, and Silver had always doubted that an English lord could be made of such steel.

He really, he realizes, should have better considered the variable that was Thomas Hamilton in this particular equation.

He sighs and turns his head to where he hears the voices coming from.

Flint and – Thomas, that’s who the man must be – sit at the kitchen table. Thomas’ hand is in Flint’s, at his lips, and below the table, their knees touch. Their heads are close, too; they practically breathe the same air. The world outside their little island of light and love does not seem to exist.

Silver lies in the dark, alone and silent, and seethes in fury, and attempts to recalculate.  


End file.
